The Things our Greggo Goes Through
by Aphid24
Summary: Rated R as a precaution. Hey, if I don't get some reviews soon, I'm not updating. (So if it's horrible, tell everyone not to gimme feedback)


Greg Sanders, of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, peered into his microscope, trying to unravel a small bundle of fibers, which were tangled and balled up too tightly to be analyzed properly. He worked the knot with a pair of tweezers, mind focused on why they were called tweezers, plural, and not 'tweezer.' He thought that might be easier to say: 'a tweezer,' not a 'pair of tweezers.' Then he worked his mind as dexterously as he worked his fingers about the tangle of what he believed to be thread, wondering what two tweezers were called-a pair of a pair of tweezers? Two pair of tweezers? Or maybe-

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice. "Sanders," the voice said, from somewhere behind him.

Without even bothering to look up, Greg said, "Yeah, boss?"

"Nope." That simple word knocked sense into Greg as to whom the speaker was, but by then, it was too late. He felt cold metal on his neck, and the cocking of a pistol scared him into action. He raised up his hands in surrender, and said, "Who...? Is this-"

"Quiet, Rat," said the gun-wielder. He jammed the gun more forcefully into Greg's neck. "Turn around. There's something I want you to see."

Greg slowly spun around in his chair, hands still held above his head. The older man had a grizzled beard, thick glasses, and a rather square jaw. The lines around his eyes were set deeper than Greg remembered, but then, he hadn't seen the man in twelve years.

"Look," said the bearded man. He held out a Palm Pilot with an nice LCD display, which was currently showing something the makers of the tiny computer had never intended it to show. Grissom, bound and gagged, in a small, peach-colored bedroom, was laying on a filthy-looking bed, seemingly asleep. At least, that's what Greg hoped. He could have been knocked unconscious, or even dead. Greg banished that thought immediately. Gris was immortal, no being nor disease nor natural event could kill him before Grissom decided and accepted it, and Grissom certainly did not accept this.

"Is he ok?" asked Greg.

"Yeah, we drugged him with some chloroform. He woke up three hours ago. But I have my buddy Red standing right next to him...see that foot?...and if you do not cooperate, Gil Grissom will be shot immediately. I understand, by what _little _I know about you, Greggy, that he is a father figure to you. Is that so? Well, let's see how fatherly he is after Red gets through with him. If you come now, without trouble, I _might_ make sure that Red does not have him."

Greg gulped, eager to do whatever the man said to help Grissom. Until that time, he'd never considered Grissom as a father figure, and for the bearded man to point it out was more than ironic. "Ok, I'll come with you. On one condition. You-"

"Oh, Greggy, you are not in the position to make deals with me. Walk out to the parking lot. You'll see a red SUV. Get in the passenger side, and lock the doors. I'll be out shortly after. You talk to anyone, and I will call my friend and...well..." he smiled in delight at the prospect of whatever they were planning to do to Grissom should Greg not cooperate.

Greg got up, exited the room, and it was all he could do not to chicken out and make a run for it. He almost ran into Warrick in the hall, but the taller man ignored him, and Greg continued miserably to the parking lot. He found the SUV rather quickly, memorized its license plate, and sat in the unbearable Vegas summer temperatures for three minutes. Finally, the man showed, and they began driving.

Greg waited until they were three miles away from the CSI lab, heading east, then asked, "Where are we going?"

"What? Are you scared?"

"I'm not scared. I'm curious. Where are we going? Will Grissom be there?"

"Yes, you'll both be together, and there will be some 'father'-'son' bonding moments for sure, but when...oh, I mustn't tell the ending," he finished dramatically.

"You know," Greg reflected. "I don't feel the same way about you as I used to, twelve years ago."

"You don't?" he asked, his voice almost shaking. He sounded hopeful.

"No. Now, I hate you more than ever."

This resulted in a slap on Greg's head, the force of the man's hand so great it Greg almost cracked the window with his forehead. He rubbed his head ruefully, trying to hold back the tears of anger and injustice.

"You'll get your's, Rat," the man growled.

They arrived at an apartment building, and the man made no attempt to shield Greg's eyes, so he concluded the man had no intention of letting Greg out alive. He was hauled roughly up the stairs, and thrown into apartment 4C. In a movement so fast Greg had no choice to resist, Red reached out from no where and yanked Greg into a sitting position. He tied Greg up expertly, like he'd done it a hundred times, then hefted him over the shoulder and marched him into the room Grissom was inhabiting. The supervisor looked up, fire in his eyes, furious at his entrapment, but his face softened and he looked almost relieved when he saw the young lab rat. Greg smiled bravely, showing he was alright. He also noticed the weird look in Red's eyes when he looked-no, _gazed_-at Grissom. Greg suspected that Red really wanted him to resist, so he could punish Grissom. He decided not to give him the satisfaction, mostly to save Grissom from the terror he knew so well and had almost come to forget.

Red dumped Greg on the sharp mattress springs, which seemed to be lacking any type of cushioning, and both he and the bearded man left the room to give their victims some words in private.

"Greg? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" Grissom demanded, struggling against the bonds. He knew it was futile, but kept at it anyway, as a way to pass the long three hours he'd endured. It had become almost a habit, trying to free himself.

"I'm alright. Hurt my head a little. Are you ok?"

"Yes."

"What does he want with you, Grissom?" Greg asked.

"I was wondering the same thing regarding you," replied Grissom.

"I know what he wants with me," said Greg hesitantly.

"Oh? Did he tell you?"

"No. He wants to finish what he started eleven years ago."

"Filder knew you eleven years ago? You mean you didn't just meet him? I assumed you were a random hostage."

"No-wait, _you _know his name?"

"I've known his name for forty years. He's my younger brother," said Grissom, stunning the tech into a kind of surreal moment.

"Gary Filder is your brother, you say?" said Greg after a while, almost thoughtfully.

Grissom nodded, eager to tell Greg everything he knew about the man to increase their chances of escape. "He was born three years after me, and became a pyromaniac at the age of 15. I figured him out almost as soon as he started, but there was no stopping him. He began to burn down empty shops, then houses. He didn't exactly start small. I collected some evidence, took it to the police, then to trial, and put him away for 10 years. He married after he was let out, had a son, an affair, and a nasty divorce, and had to give up custody of his son. Then he began stalking his ex-wife, molested their eleven-year old son, and this kept reoccurring until the boy told his mother. I was assigned to that case, but pulled off immediately, because I had personal ties. He ran, some think he moved to Mexico, and now is apparently back. He isn't too happy with me, I'd expect. I'm more afraid for his son. I overheard Gary talking to Red, and it seems as if he is going for him next." Grissom frowned. "I don't know what the kid's name is. He entered a witness protection program at the age of thirteen. He used to be Alex Filder. "

Greg asked, "If you're Filder's brother, then why is your last name different?"

Grissom looked pleased at the question, as if proud of the lab tech for working out that small detail. "I too was put in the witness protection program. My real name is Aaron Filder. Gary threatened me after I turned him in, and on two occasions tried to kill me, so I was required by law to get a new name and life. It really doesn't matter that anyone knows my real name now, though, as the idea of it was to protect me from him, which obviously didn't work," he reflected.

Greg had never seen him so talkative, and he wondered briefly if it was some perverse side affect of the chloroform, or the blow to the head. He'd just noticed the injury on Grissom's forehead, a bright red spot of blood lined with a darkening bruise. "Gris, you ok?"

"Why?"

"Rat! Aaron!" roared Filder. He had burst into the room, followed by Red, who had a roll of duct tape in hand. It took Greg two seconds to figure out who Aaron was. Grissom. He would do well to remember that.

"Fat! Barren!" Greg shot back, rhyming the bearded man's last words. He referred to Red with his 'Fat' comment, and Filder as 'Barren.' Greg knew he had responded stupidly, but-knowing full well his life and sanity were in danger-he turned to sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

Grissom almost smiled, but then the look turned into worry as Red grabbed hold of Greg's collar and hauled him upright. "Did you call me fat?" he demanded, his rancid breath nearly making Greg pass out. He wondered if even Doc Robbins would be able to put up with this stench.

"Phat," the young tech responded meekly. "Like with a P. H. It means cool. It's slang."

"Let go of him," Filder commanded quietly. "We'll need him talkative-that shouldn't be much of a challenge-and _conscious._" Filder reached out and slapped Greg upside the head. His eyes stung, and his cheek was red. Instead of responding intelligently, he said stupidly, "You hit like a girl."

The bearded man yanked Greg into a standing position once more, and punched the young man in the gut. Greg grunted painfully, doubled over, and sank to the floor, hands still tied behind his back, feet tied together.

"Bastard," Grissom hissed, struggling to get up. Red noticed this and gingerly pushed Grissom back down into a sitting position.

Greg, meanwhile, was on his knees and fighting for breath. He glared at Filder defiantly, but then crumpled under the larger man's return stare and lowered his head.

Grissom struggled more in his bonds, hoping to catch the now distracted Red unawares, who was leering over Greg, breathing hot air on the injured tech. Filder cuffed the tech across the head for good measure, and Greg took it well. He hissed between his teeth in pain, but held steady.

Hoping to distract the man from Greg, Grissom asked, "What do you intend on doing with us, now that you have me bound and him beaten?" He snarled the last statement, an unspoken insult to his brother concerning the fact that whatever Filder did, his victims would be completely helpless.

Filder remained unfazed, saying, "I plan to finish what I attempted 15 years ago. And then I plan to kill you, Aaron. You ruined my life, my family, and my future."

"You ruined it yourself," argued Grissom, knowing this was futile. He'd already accepted, years ago, that his brother was a mad man, with so much insanity there was very little room for logic.

"No, _you_ ruined it. You ruined me. I could have had a family, a job, a life. I wanted to watch little Alex grow up, but I couldn't be there for him when he needed me the most. He needed a father, Aaron. He needed me, and I couldn't be there for him, and that is all your fault. I'll get you to apologize for that, brother, before you die. Wait-why let you die? I could do so much worse." He grinned nastily, in more of a grimace that chilled Grissom to the bone. "Rat!" he shouted suddenly. "Get up, boy, stand up!"

Greg remained in his position on his knees, but raised his hand to glare defiantly at the bearded man. Red hauled him upright by the collar, and the young man's face turned an instant shade of blue. He writhed in Red's grip, who only clutched him tighter.

Filder motioned to the bathroom with a quick jerk of his head, and Red grinned. He dragged Greg into the rancid lavatory, and slammed the door shut.

"Now," said Filder, ignoring the noises that emitted from the bathroom. "I am going to knock you out until I figure out what to do with you. But for now, I want you to listen to those sounds-" he waved his arm in the general direction of the bathroom- "And just sort of listen for a while. Get used to it, you'll be hearing it up close soon enough."

Grissom did listen, with growing dread and horror. He struggled with his bonds, listening, until the sound phased him too much to attempt escape. There were loud thumps at first, then Greg yelling, sobbing, and then it all went silent. The entire affair took about five minutes, but to Greg and Grissom, it seemed an eternity. The watch on Grissom's wrist slowed down to a crawl; he could here the steady ticking as it beat against his wrist. Red emerged from the bathroom at last, clothes askew, and Grissom could see Greg huddled in the tub. It wasn't until Red disappeared and closed the door that Grissom realized he'd been crying for Greg-tears dripped down his cheeks. He shook his head to clear it, trying to attain a professional air, and knowing that was impossible. He cried then, lowered his head, and let the tears run. He cried for Greg, innocent, sweet young Greg, with his Hawaiian Blue coffee, eccentric shirts, and caring heart. He felt miserable when he came to a realization that it was his fault-all his fault. No one else was to blame but himself. Then he wished with all his heart that he could trade places with Greg, and go through the torture to spare the young man from the pain.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a knife, slung under the door. Grissom turned, caught it neatly in his bound hands, and went about cutting his bonds.

"Cut yourself loose," yelled the gruff voice of Filder. "You can't get out anyway, might as well make yourself at home."

Grissom sawed through the rope easily, and with much dread, stood up and began a long walk to the bathroom.

He opened the door slowly, and saw Greg still huddled in the tub knees drawn up to his chin.

"Greg?" asked Grissom. "Are you alright?" It was a stupid question, but he could not think of anything else to say, and something had to be said.

Greg shook his head, eyes fixed ahead.

Grissom stepped into the tub, and sat on the rim next to Greg. He felt hopeless as Greg lowered his head and sobbed. He felt even more hopeless when the tech looked at him, eyes full of tears, cheeks streaked with dampness, and said, "I'm sorry."

Grissom was baffled. "Greg, why are you sorry?"

Greg shook his head, then stared at his knees. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"It's not..." Grissom began. "Why do you...?...It's not your fault, Greg. How could you apologize for this?"

He didn't answer directly. Instead, he said, "Grissom, I'm really scared."

"I know," soothed the older man. "I am too. It'll be alright, though."

Greg didn't seem confident with Grissom's prediction, but nodded anyway.

"Let's get you out, huh?"

Again, Greg nodded, but refused to move. After several attempts to persuade him out, Grissom had no choice but to lift him out of the tub. He carried him to the filthy bed, set him down. Again, Greg apologized, his teeth chattering.

"Greg, what are you apologizing for?"

The more direct question seemed to have more of an effect on the lab tech than the last, and he answered hesitantly, "when he...he...you know...I accidentally...I got...I didn't mean to, though...I didn't want to, but it happened..." He looked up at Grissom, his large brown eyes swimming with shame. Grissom understood-Greg was, in fact, human, and certain biological reactions could not be avoided.

Greg, suddenly pale with nausea, bent forward and Grissom narrowly avoided being vomited on. He patted Greg on the back, and sat on the bed when he was done. Greg flinched away from him, shivering and wiping his mouth. Grissom managed to get one hand on Greg's head, and stroked his hair awkwardly.

"Grissom?" asked Greg meekly.

"Yes, Greg?"

"Promise you won't tell"

"Greg, we'll have to tell. We have to report"

"No, I mean about the...the thing I did..."

"They'll find out, Greg. There'll be forensic evidence. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you couldn't help it. You didn't do anything wrong, kiddo" he said, shocked at his use of the word 'kiddo.' He hadn't used that since his nephew Alex was three, spending the night as his house, and Grissom-Aaron Filder then-was talking about his extensive butterfly collection. Alex had promptly fallen asleep in his lap, and Grissom had stroked his hair for a half hour, then put him to bed. "Night, kiddo" was the last thing he said to Alex. They'd moved away a month afterward, and eight years later were in the witness protection program.

"Grissom" asked Greg again.

"Yeah"

"Why'd he come back?"

Grissom assumed Greg asking why Filder had decided to seek revenge on his brother, and answered the best way he could. "I think he's still mad. He's nuts, kiddo, and who knows why crazy people do what they do?"

"Is he still mad at me?"

"Why would he be mad at you?"

Greg shrugged.

"Greg, did you know him before all this?"

Greg stared at the wall.

"Greg, answer me." The pieces were beginning to fall into place for Grissom. The timing, the resemblence...everything fit. "Greg."

He avoided Grissom's direct stare.

"Greg, _are you Alex Filder?"_

Slowly, Greg nodded.

The first thought that entered Grissom's mind at the new discovery was he wanted to pull Greg into a big bear hug. When Greg-Alex then-was little, he and his uncle had been close. The closest thing Grissom ever got to having a real, loving family was babysitting Alex, and when they moved to Ohio, he was crushed. And there was that other thing, that only Grissom and Gary's wife knew about. Grissom suspected Gary might know as well.

They sat in silence for a while, Grissom still stroking Greg's hair comfortingly, until an abrupt and shrieking noise filled the air. It was a particular ringtone, tuned to some obscure rock group, and was coming from the bathroom. Grissom told Greg he'd be back soon, went into the bathroom, picked up Greg's discarded lab coat, and pulled the smallest cell phone he'd ever seen from the pocket.

"Grissom," he answered.

"Hello, this is Linda from Rally's Car Insurance. May I speak with you ab-"

He snapped the phone shut, dialed a new number, and was rewarded with, "Sidle."

"Sara," breathed Grissom. "Trace this call. Right now."

There were no questions, just a brief disturbance on the other end. Then, "Ok, tracing. Gris, where are you? Are you with Greg?"

"Greg and I are in an apartment building. There is not a lot of traffic, so I'm guessing not a main road. The furniture is very old, so look for an apartment that's been here for a while."

"Are you guys ok?"

"I am, but Greg... isn't. It's a long story."

"I have time."

"Alright. My real name is Aaron Filder, and I had to go into the witness protection program because my brother wanted to kill me because I turned him in when we were kids. He went to jail, got out, married, had a kid, and then...molested his own child. He was on house arrest until they could get enough evidence, but escaped. Now he's back, and he wants to kill me, and he's got Greg, who I just recently learned is his son and my nephew, or so he thinks, because I had an affair with his wife and I think Greg is probably _my_ son." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly to stop the room from spinning.

"Greg? Our Greg? Sanders? Your son?" Sara couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. "I don't believe it. I'm... speechless. But you said he isn't ok. What's wrong?"

"Gary-my brother-has a friend to help him... contain us. He..." Grissom took another deep breath. "He molested Greg."

There was dead silence on the other end. "How is he?" Sara whispered, sounding like she was struggling against tears.

"He's a little... he's really scared. He's talking and coherent, but he can't stop crying and he won't let me get too near him."

"So... this isn't the first time it's happened. You said Gary molested him when he was a kid, right"

"Yeah, he-" Grissom was interrupted by a commotion in the bedroom. "I gotta go, Sara, but I won't hang up." He set the phone down and hurriedly rushed to Greg.

The young tech was stationed on the bed, fast asleep. In his restless dreams, he'd kicked the wall, which had been the sound Grissom had heard. Greg began writhing in a nightmare, and Grissom shook his shoulder until he woke. He sat up, disoriented, wide-eyed in terror. "Wha...?"

"Shh, it's ok, kiddo," soothed Grissom.

Greg nodded. He said weakly, "I don't think I'll be able to get a good night's sleep for a while."

Grissom nodded. "Greg, would you like to stay at my place for a while when we get out of here? I don't think you should be alone for a while."

Greg almost grinned, a trace of his old Greggy-ness back. "Only if you promise I won't get bitten by a bug, and you don't use me for any more freaky CSI rituals."

Grissom feigned innocence. "When did I?"

"Foot mildew? Sewer decomposition experiment? Ringing any bells? I peed in cups four times for you"

"That was for good reason, I swear" argued Grissom.

"Yeah, right. You probably keep it in a specimen cup and feed it to giant mutant leeches each night."

"But seriously, Greg, will you stay with me for a while"

"I'll be ok on my own. This has happened before, you know" he said darkly. "Nightmares, the shakes...been there, done that. If you're afraid of me killing myself, don't worry, I got too much to live for. Gonna show that bastard that he will not affect me in any way."

Grissom nodded, satisfied with Greg's willingness to live life to the fullest. "Greg, I know you can take care of yourself. I just want to help you-"

"I don't need help," he responded.

"Stay at my place for a few nights, just so-" Grissom tried to reason, but was cut off by Greg.

"Listen, Gris, I know what it's like to have this happen. You don't know. You've been around hundreds of people like me, every day, but you don't know what it's like. I feel like I can never be safe again. I can never look at anyone that resembles my father without shaking, and I'll probably have to work at a different lab because you and him look so much alike. This happened to me when I was a child several times, and I've been through all of the pain. I've blamed myself for years before I finally realized it wasn't my fault, it was that bastard of a father's fault and now he's back and I have to go through it all again and I don't want anyone when this is over, I just want to be left alone, you hear that? Leave me alone!" He panted at the sheer emotion from his outburst, tears threatening to spill once more.

"Greg, I have to tell you something I should have told you sooner," sighed Grissom, thinking maybe this was a good time to spill.

"What?" he demanded.

__

Ok, maybe this wasn't a good time to spill, thought Grissom. He soldiered on anyway. "When Lily-your mother-was married to my brother, we..." This was harder to say than he'd thought. "We had an affair and nine months later you were born. Out of curiosity, I tested your DNA and found it was more of a match to mine than Gary's. I'm your real father."

Greg waved his hand in dismissive manner. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"You know?"

"I read about it in Mom's suicide note. She mentioned that who I thought was my dad was actually my uncle, but of course I didn't realize _you _were my dad until you explained you're his brother." He cocked his head at the oddness of that statement, wondering how in the world it made sense.

"You knew," repeated Grissom, dazed. Then, "Wait, suicide note? She killed herself?"

Greg's angry expression softened. "When I was fifteen. She OD'd on cocaine. I was put into foster care until I was 18. I miss her so much." He began to cry once more, tears streaming quietly down his face. Grissom failed to notice, so deep was he in his thoughts.

"She overdosed on purpose?"

"Yeah. She, uh, she said she still loved you."

"She-"

__

BANG! "Police! Open up!"

Grissom mentally thanked Sara.

There were shouts and loud noises for a while as the cops checked every room, emerging in the bedroom last. Captain Jim Brass wielded a pistol, aimed straight at the two CSI's heads, and behind him stood Warrick, Sara, Catherine and Nick. They rushed in, and Nick attempted to hug Greg.

"No!" shouted the lab tech involuntarily. He whispered, "Please don't touch me."

Nick nodded, understanding, and asked, "Are you alright Greggo?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" asked Warrick and Catherine at the same time.

Greg almost grinned. "I'm ok, really."

In her usual frank manner, Sara interrupted, "Greg, we'll have to process you now."

Greg began to shake. "Not again," he pleaded, looking at Grissom. "Please, not again. I don't think I can do it."

Catherine looked like she badly needed to comfort the young tech, but held back. "We'll make you a nice brew of Blue Hawaiian for when you're done."

Greg shook his head. "I can't" he whispered. He looked at Grissom pleadingly again. "Please."

Grissom did something he hadn't done in over three decades: he reached out and hugged Greg tightly, trying to give him the needed strength and support though physical contact. A man of science, he nevertheless strayed from the hard facts and introduced himself to a new idea: love. "It'll be ok, kiddo" he soothed to his son.

Greg paced nervously in the hospital room, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a bracelet he had grown rather attached to. He distracted himself from what was to come by pondering the mystery of tweezers-plural. It amused him to come up with a new name for them: tweezes, until he realized that might already be a word. He searched for another word...tweezies, twezzlers, twizz-

"Hello, Mr. Sanders. I'm Dr. Roland Berg" said a portly looking man. He had rosy cheeks and probably a wonderful disposition, but at the moment Greg hated him.

"Please take off your shorts" said the doctor, and Greg reluctantly obeyed.


End file.
